


First Blood

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-11
Updated: 2007-05-11
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: There are many different ways to bleed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This is part of the BobbyJohn ‘Verse.  
>  John (age 38), Sammy (age 8), Dean (age 12)

A gun is an extension of yourself, just another appendage but with a much deadlier advantage than any other body part. Using that gun will be like second nature. It’ll be like breathing once you’ve mastered it. But you have to treat it with respect, just like the rest of your body. If it’s not taken care of properly, it gets lax. You get careless with it and it’ll let you down. 

 

That’s why John was standing out in the backyard of Bobby’s setting up bottles and cans along an old fence railing in ninety-eight degree weather with the sun beating down on him without any mercy. He’d missed the damn ghoul the first two times and it had almost cost him the lives of his children. He wouldn’t miss again. If Dean hadn’t chose that moment to come around from the other side of the car and taken a shot, it would have gotten Sammy. Eight years old and way too young to for a grave, the kid had been huddled in the front seat of the Impala with wide eyes watching as the ghoul had advanced on the car. John shook his head, trying to clear the memory from his mind. He was getting lax, letting his rest here at Bobby’s take away his edge. 

 

It was gonna stop. It had to.

 

He wasn't sure how long he kept shooting. Every time he finished taking out the targets, he set up another round. The minefield of broken glass shimmered in the hot sun. Different colors of brown, clear and green where scattered along the ground. John Winchester hadn't missed a single one. In boot camp they had quickly noted that he was a damn good shot. It had served him well in Vietnam. After getting back stateside, he hadn't picked up again until after Mary died. She had hated guns and never wanted them around the children. 

 

John zeroed in on the empty whisky bottle and took aim. A tear of sweat got into his eye and he wiped it away. He narrowed in eyes and shot. He watched as the bottle exploded and yet felt no satisfaction. As he emptied the spent round from the shotgun, he heard someone coming up behind him. John knew by the heavy footfall that it was Bobby. The man could walk much quieter than that, but he was intentionally letting John know he was close. 

 

"You done yet, Winchester?"

 

John just shook his head, reaching down into the small bag at his feet to pull out the Glock. The afternoon sunlight glimmered on it as he thumbed off the safety. He spread his legs a bit as he lifted the gun, taking aim at row of bottles off to his left. The shots were loud in the hot air, bottles shattering one by one as he moved down the row. He didn’t realize he was still shooting with an empty chamber until Bobby’s hand covered his wrist, effectively lowering the gun down a few inches.

 

“Give it a rest, Johnny. You’ve been out here long enough. Don’t think those bottles are gonna be hurtin’ anyone else today… unless they’re magik bottles. We need to salt and burn ‘em?” Bobby’s voice held just a touch of humour but more than anything John could hear the concern there. It made him feel about two inches tall. He should’ve been more careful, letting himself get lulled into a false sense of peace here. Pulling away from Bobby, John flicked the safety on the Glock.

 

“Where are the boys?”

 

Bobby knew what that clipped question meant. John Winchester was looking for a fight. "They're out in their fort."

 

And by fort, he meant a maze of bunkers and tunnels constructed from old tires and cars the boys had made in his junkyard. They played out there for hours at end pretending to be hunters or soldiers.

 

John gave a nod and reached out to grab up the duffel bag at his feet. “Good, go get the crossbows then. I want to practice with those next…unless you’re not up for a little competition. And bring the good bolts with you. Not those cheap ass things that couldn’t punch through paper on a good day.” He needed to burn off more of this anger inside of himself. He planned to go through just about every weapon he had, retraining himself on them. He could tell by Bobby’s disapproving glare that the man was against it. He just cocked an eyebrow and stared until Bobby rolled his eyes and went into the house to get them.

 

They went through target practice with the crossbow with the sun still beating down on them. When John put away the crossbow and reached for his throwing knives with a shaky hand, Bobby had had enough. He would be putting a stop to this. 

 

He grabbed John's wrist before John's fingers could grasp the throwing knife. "You're done for today, John."

 

John wrenched his hand back, feeling the slice of the blade across his palm but not caring. “Not by a long shot. I’m fine.” With barely a thought, he turned and threw the knife, the point coming to lodge deeply into the post of the fence about fifteen feet away. John turned, a feral grin on his face as he brought a hand up to wipe at the sweat on his face. “See? I’m just fine.”

 

Bobby reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out a handkerchief. “You’re not fine. You’re fucking bleedin’ all over the place with that hand of yours. AND you just painted your face red like an Indian about to go off to war, ya stupid idiot.”

 

"So what?" John snapped. "So what if I bleed?"

 

He started to pull away, but Bobby seized his chin in a strong grip, holding him as he wiped at the blood. "And scar this pretty face?"

 

"Shut up." Bobby just held his chin tighter, turning it slightly. "I'm getting old, Bobby. Old and slow."

 

“So that must make me ancient and decrepit then. Quit tryin’ to stare daggers through me and hold still. You can rant and rave all ya want in a minute. They boys’ll be freakin’ out with you all covered in blood like this.” Bobby kept his grip on John tight until the blood was wiped away then grabbed John’s wrist to tie the handkerchief around it. “Take your ass in the house so we can get this cleaned up. And keep the boys ears from hearing more than they need to.”

 

"No," John growled. Even though he was light headed and his mouth was dry. "How about you go back into the house? I'm going to be out here. I'm not done."

 

"Oh, you're done!" Bobby growled back. Most people would be intimidated by a pissed off John Winchester, but Bobby wasn't. Not in the least.

 

Stepping forward, Bobby got right up into John’s space actually making John take several steps backwards… several shaky steps. “You ain’t slept since ya got here yesterday. You haven’t eaten anything in just as long as far as I can tell. You’re gonna knock this crap off and get some rest or else I will knock you flat on your ass and unconscious to make sure you get some damn sleep.” John’s face was pale but two deep red slashes were on his cheeks now as he got angrier. Bobby gave something close to a growl. “Don’t you even, John. You’re about ten seconds from collapsing in this heat as it is.”

 

John's eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to let anyone tell him what to do. Sammy's life had been endangered because he was getting complacent. "Back off, Bobby."

 

Bobby could see that the damn Winchester stubbornness had set in. The whole lot of them were worse than mules. "Fine!" Bobby said and look a few steps back. "Fine, go ahead." He moved over to a near by fence post and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. It was only a matter of time. 

 

With his left hand, John still managed to throw another volley of knives, hitting the target. Bobby had to admit that was pretty impressive considering his friend was right handed and injured. When John went to collect the knives from the target, Bobby saw his hands where shaking and his step unsure. It was just a matter of waiting. Sure enough, just as John was pulling out the third throwing knife, he went down like a rock. 

 

Bobby sighed and ambled over to John. He poked John lightly with his boot. When John didn't move, he shook his head. "Damn stubborn Winchester." With a heavy groan he leaned down and hoisted John's limp figure over his shoulder and began to carry him back to the house. 

 

*******

John groaned and opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling of Bobby’s bedroom. His head was throbbing and his mouth was dry. He tried to wet his lips but he barely had any saliva for that. “Why’m I always waking up to see your damn ceiling, Singer?” John muttered, eyes slipping closed again as one particular steel spike pierced his brain.

 

“Cuz you’re a pain in my ass and won’t listen to a thing I say when it’s for your own good,” Bobby answered as he walked into the room carrying a glass of water. “Told you ya needed to rest, but would ya listen to me? Oh no, John Winchester knows himself just fine. He can outlast everyone and everything because he says he can.”

 

"Just shut your yap and give me some beer."

 

Bobby pressed a cold glass of water into John's hand. "Drink this."

 

John sat up a bit on the bed and the room was spinning a little, but he ignored it. He held the glass up and looked at it, then at Bobby. "Does this look like beer?" 

 

"You're not having a beer when you're dehydrated," Bobby snapped. "Now drink the damn water. And after that, you'll drink another glass."

 

John reached out and downed the glass of water, smacking at Bobby’s hand when the man tried to pull it back from him at one point. “Hurry up and give me another one because once I finish that glass I’m so gonna kick your as-..” John’s breath hitched and he was leaning over the side of the bed, scrabbling for the trashcan there before one good heave brought up the water that had barely even made it down onto his stomach. He retched a few more times than sat back up, eyes watering from the force of the heaving. 

 

“I swear to god, Johnny. I don’t know how the hell you made it this long as stupid as you can be.” Bobby snatched the glass from where John had dropped it on the bed. “De-hy-dra-ted…you need to drink it slooooow.”

 

"Your sarcasm isn't helping," John snapped. He had thrown up all the water he had drank and was now just dry heaving. He looked ashen when he flopped back onto the bed.

 

"Neither is you being a jackass," Bobby snapped right back. "Sometimes, I swear..."

 

"What?" John cut him off. "Don't start with me, Bobby."

“In case you noticed, I wasn’t the one who started it! In fact, ninety percent of the time YOU start it. Just like you started it today… again!” Bobby turned and walked out the door, muttering the whole way and it made John give a small smile even though he didn’t feel like smiling much. He caught words from time to time as Bobby refilled the water glass. Snatches of “Winchester, stubborn, pig-headed, jerk, asshole, put up with you.”

When Bobby was standing back in the door, John forced a scowl back onto his face. “Quit bitchin’ at me like a woman and give me the damn water.”

Bobby started into the room carrying a pitcher of water in one hand and a full glass in the other. John was still scowling at him when he threw the cold glass of water in his face. John was sputtering when he chuckled, "That was for the woman wise crack. I ain't your wife, Johnny-boy."

John stared up with wide eyes at Bobby, rubbing a hand over his face to wipe away the water. “You did not just throw water on me! What are you….three?”

“Yeah well, you keep gettin’ hot under the collar like that and there’s a whole pitcher right here to cool you down again, bucko.” Bobby lifted the pitcher a bit higher to prove his point. He filled the glass back up and handed it over to John. “Drink it slow this time, idiot.”

John took the glass and took a few sips, his eyes never leaving Bobby’s face. When Bobby turned to sit the pitcher on the side table, John launched his attack tossing the water right against the back of Bobby’s neck with a satisfying smirk.

Water dripped off of a Bobby's nose. "Oh no you didn't!"

 

"I did!" John hooted with laughter.

 

Bobby took off his now soaking hat. "That was a mistake, Winchester. A big mistake. That was my John Deere hat."

 

"You have two..."

 

"My good John Deere hat," Bobby clarified. He shook the hat and water flicked onto John, then set the cap on the bed side table.

 

“It doesn’t look any different from the other one,” John laughed, reaching out to snag it from the table. He pulled it onto his head, not caring about the wetness on the liner. “Yeehaw,” he drawled, he turned his head to the side and fake spit onto the floor. 

 

"Are you calling me a redneck?" Bobby asked. He took a step closer to the bed.

 

"If the shoe… or in this case, hat fits…" John answered with a smirk.

 

“Oh that does it,” Bobby growled, reaching out to grab for his hat but John rolled away, his feet hitting the floor as he stood staring at Bobby from the opposite side of the bed. “You wanna play, Johnny-boy? We’ll play.”

 

Both men stared at each other across the expanse of mattress. Bobby started moving towards the end of the bed and John scooted closer to the top on his side, one foot going up to rest on the mattress. “I will jump right across this damn thing, Singer. I’m just giving you fair warning when you go complaining later.”

 

Bobby just grinned and took off like a shot, moving around to John’s side of the bed. John jumped up onto the mattress and turned, watching Bobby stare at him now that they had reversed their original positions. Nerves alive and jumping, they both shifted a bit, gauging each other movements.

 

John licked his lips. He made a dash around the corner and Bobby avoided him quickly. "For an old man, you can move pretty fast."

 

This time it was Bobby who lunched at John and managed to grab a fistful of his shirt. John managed to get away, but his shirt ripped in the process. Now it was Bobby who was licking his lips when he saw a glimpse of stomach. "How fast can you run?" 

 

"I can run faster scared than you can angry!" John quipped and dodged another lunge. "Not that I'm scared."

 

Bobby laughed and took another lunge, managing to grab the hem of John’s shirt, he struggled to hold on but had to lean too far over the bed for it. He landed with a rather loud oomph, pulling John down with him. They both laid there panting for a moment and that’s when it happened. Bobby started to roll over onto his side, his hands tugging off his hat from John’s head when the bed gave out beneath them with a loud crack.

 

John gave a shout as Bobby lunged over almost on top of him.

 

“Oh my god!” came Bobby’s sudden quiet response.

 

John lost it, laughing harder than he had in a long time. The whole time Bobby lay there, repeating himself over and over with wide eyes as he looked at the bed, then the floor, than back at John.

 

“Oh. My. GOD!” Bobby shook his head. “You broke my bed! You freakin’ broke my bed, John!”

 

"You... You needed a new one anyways!" John wheezed in between laughing.

 

"I did not! You broke my perfectly fine bed." The bed creaked a little ominously under them.

 

"And you weren't involved?" John asked, still having trouble breathing from laughing so hard. "Always thought if we broke the bed... it wouldn't be like this!"

 

“Oh shut your mouth! This is just great!” Bobby huffed, half climbing and half rolling off the bed. “This isn’t funny!” Bobby did his best to look stern but John’s incessant laughing was hard to ignore.

 

The sound of the front door being slammed open and then slammed shut echoed through the house followed by a thundering of footsteps.

 

“Quit running in the house!” Bobby bellowed, watching as Sam slid to a halt at the entrance to the room. His little eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. Dean slammed into him from behind, knocking Sammy further into the room.

 

“Watch it, Dean!”

 

“Jeez, Sammy! Chill out already. It was an acc-… holy crap! Dad, you broke Bobby’s bed!” Dean said, pushing past Sammy who smacked him in the arm on his way by.

 

"Watch your language, young man," John corrected automatically. "And no, I didn't break Bobby's bed."

 

"Sorry, sir," Dean said. "And I don't know, dad. Looks broken to me."

 

Sammy's forehead scrunched up a bit. "What were you doing on the bed to break it?"

 

Bobby's eyes locked with John's in a moment of sheer panic. "Ah..." John stammered.

 

"Were you jumping on the bed?" Sammy asked. Then Dean punched him in the arm. "Ow! What was that for?"

 

"For asking a stupid question. Of course they weren't jumping on the bed," he said. Then he turned to them, "What were you doing?"

 

“Sparring. We were sparring,” John answered. 

 

Sammy shook his head. “You told us we were only supposed to do that outside or something would get broken.”

 

Bobby cleared his throat. “Yeah, and something did get broken and now we’ve all learned a very important lesson.” 

 

John started laughing again and ran a hand over his face. “Look, I got a bit dehydrated earlier and wasn’t feeling good. I came in to lay down,” Bobby took the time to cough right then to let John know that he was covering up what really had happened for the boys. Tossing a venomous look over at the older man, John went on. “Bobby was trying to go all nursemaid on me and I started teasing him and we ended up sparring a bit. End of story.”

 

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “So, basically what you’re saying is you broke Bobby’s bed?”

 

"Fine, I broke Bobby's bed!" John sighed and threw up his arms in exasperation.

 

"That wasn't very nice, dad," Sammy said, shaking his head. "Where is Bobby going to sleep now?"

 

John kind of went a little redder with Sammy's question. The damn kid always seemed to have a way to get to him. And there was no way he was going to admit that he was out of a place to sleep as well. "Well, I..." 

 

"It's not like you can share your cot," Dean said with a smirk. "It's too small and you're too big. It's a shame really... since you broke Bobby's bed and all."

 

"They could take the bunk beds..." Sammy suddenly suggested.

 

Dean gave Sammy a mean look. “Yeah, right. There’s no way in the world they can sleep in those. They’ll end up breaking them, too. They’re made for kids.”

 

“Hey!” came the chorus of yells from Bobby and John.

 

“Well, it’s true!” Dean yelled back. “Whoever sleeps on the bottom would end up with a grown man plus a mattress right on top of them if you didn’t die on impact.”

 

Bobby snickered and John turned around and punched him in the arm.

 

“What’d I do!?” Bobby said, rubbing at the spot.

 

“It’s now what you did it’s what you were thinking, Singer.” John growled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

“What were you thinking, Uncle Bobby?” Sammy asked. “I wanna know!”

 

"I was thinking I built your bunk beds big enough for big boys," Bobby said and glared at John. "'Cause you're gonna grow up to be one big guy, huh?"

 

"That's not what you were thinking," Sammy challenged. He got the same set to his face as John had out shooting at targets. The boy was more like his daddy than either of them would ever want to admit. "You don't think I'm old enough to understand."

 

John rolled his eyes. “Look, we got more important things to worry about right now than this.”

 

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, like getting Bobby a new bed because you broke his.”

 

John’s face went red and he clenched his fists. “For the last time, I did NOT BREAK BOBBY’S BED!”

 

Dean flinched back and Sammy’s eyes went wide. “You said you did earlier!”

 

“That’s it! Out! All of you out!” John pointed to the door and heard Bobby laughing again. “You, too! Out!”

 

“Hey it’s my room there, pal! You can’t order me…”

 

John stood up and turned to look at Bobby with an almost murderous gleam to his eyes.

 

Bobby raised both hands in truce. “Okay, okay! We’re going!” He walked around the bed, not once letting his back go to John. He gave both the boys a nudge. “See? We’re going.”

 

"Why is dad so grumpy, Uncle Bobby?" Sammy asked in loud whisper.

 

"Your old man was born grumpy, Sammy," Bobby chuckled and patted Sammy on the shoulder.

 

"Yeah... but he's more grumpier than usual," Sammy insisted and took another step back. "Is it 'cause I forgot to tell you about my play tomorrow and the costume you need to make?"

 

“You’re in a play?” Dean asked, his eyes dancing with mischief. “When did you turn into a girl, Sammy?”

 

Bobby reached out and cuffed Dean upside his head. “Quit being a smartass to your brother.” He turned his attention back to Sammy. “You’re in a play? Why didn’t you say something before now?”

 

Sammy looked down at the floor and scuffed the toe of his shoe along it. “I kind of forgot and I thought dad would make me quit it if I said something too soon.” Looking back up, Sammy bit at his lip. “Please don’t get mad! My whole class is doing it. We’re raising money for the animal shelter here in town. And since we can’t get a puppy I might as well help anyway that I can so that they don’t keep putting them down.”

 

"We're not getting a dog, Sammy," John groaned. He needed to distract his youngest son quickly. "And what's this about a costume?"

 

"I need it for tomorrow."

 

"And you didn't tell us sooner because..." John asked and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

"Because it's a stupid costume..." Sammy mumbled.

 

"It can't be that bad," Bobby insisted and ruffled Sammy's hair.

 

Sammy looked up at with that mini-Winchester scowl. "I'm supposed to be a flower!"

 

Dean howled and dropped down onto the floor holding his stomach. 

 

“Shut up, Dean! It’s not funny!” Sammy’s face screwed up into rage and he dropped down next to his brother, trying hard to get a proper hit in. “Stop it, Dean!”

 

Dean rolled away and continued laughing. “Y-you’re a f-freakin’ f-flower! Gives a whole new meaning to the w-word pansy ass!”

 

Sammy attacked, throwing himself on top of Dean and pummeling him with closed fists that Dean easily blocked even through his laughter.

 

“Sam, get off your brother!” John bellowed, reaching out to grab Sammy by an elbow and haul him off.

 

“Lemme go, dad! I wanna give him a black eye for that one!” Sammy struggled to get away, his hands reaching out and skimming across the top of Dean’s head.

 

Dean grinned up at him with tears on his face. “That’s why I keep my hair short. Can’t grab it if there’s nothing to hold onto!”

 

“That’s enough! Dean, just for that you can go collect all the weapons I left out back. Clean and inspect every one of them," John snapped. "Then go clean up all the glass by the fence."

 

"Yes, sir," Dean said, trying to sound sullen. It wasn't really a punishment for him to work with the weapons. He loved them. "You want me to check the ones in the Impala after I'm done that?" 

 

"No, after that I want you to run laps around the yard for at least half an hour."

 

Sammy smirked and stuck his tongue out at Dean, who just glared back. “Yes, sir.” He retreated out of the room without a single glance back.

 

“So,” John started, herding Sammy out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living room. “a flower, huh?”

 

Sammy nodded his head. “Yeah, a flower. Why couldn’t they have made me a tree or something? I would have made a good tree.” He flopped onto the couch and bounced his feet along the bottom of it. 

 

"Did you ask for something else?" John asked. He had to admit he didn't like the idea of his son playing a flower.

 

"Yeah," Sammy said sullenly. "But they said since I was the tallest in the class, I had to be the flower 'cause everyone else are bugs and flowers are taller than bugs. I could've been a spider or something." 

 

“Well, no one said you had to be a girly kind of flower either. Maybe we can make you into something…different, I guess.” John rubbed a hand across his face. “You remember where that Magikal Ingredients book is, Sam? Why don’t you go get it and we’ll see what we can find in there.”

 

Sammy’s brow scrunched up for a moment and then his eyes went wide. “Oh! Okay, dad.”

 

Bobby perched himself on the edge of the chair John was sitting in. “What are you gonna look for in there?”

 

John sighed a bit. “Well, if we make him think he’s a poisonous flower maybe he won’t feel so bad.”

 

"Yeah, well by the time we're done, anyone we'll be lucky to figure out he's a flower..." Bobby chuckled. "How in the hell do we make a flower costume anyways?"

 

John shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "Spray paint some clothes green and put some sort of hat or something on his head?"

 

Bobby looked very doubtful at John's plans. "I'll go get my stapler."

 

*****

 

Sam looked at himself in the mirror and frowned. “It doesn’t look right at all.” He reached up and brushed a tear away from his cheek. “And the smell is making my eyes sting.”

 

Bobby took a step back and covered his mouth and nose. “Christ on a crutch, Johnny, what did ya do…soak the damn clothes in paint? Don’t light a match or anything, he’d go up in flames.”

 

"It was green paint... how else was I supposed to make his clothes green?"

 

"Could've just turned my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirt inside out and worn that," Sam said. "It's green." His voice was all nasally because he was pinching his nose.

 

John sighed. The paint had stained Sammy's skin green. "And why didn't you suggest that before?"

 

"You never asked."

 

“Alright, take them off but do it out on the front porch. You’re gonna have to take a shower and get that crap off your skin,” John said, throwing himself down into the chair.

 

“But what about my costume?” Sammy asked as he walked towards the door.

 

“I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

 

Dean was on his way in through the door and he did a dramatic gagging sound as Sammy passed him. “Christo!”

 

“Shut up, jerk,” was the only reply that Dean got from his little brother as he went out onto the porch.

 

“What’s his problem?” Dean asked, taking in the surroundings of the living room which was even more of a mess than usual.

 

"You!" Sammy yelled from the mudroom as he stepped outside and slammed the front door.

 

"He has to be a flower," John said. "It's a little traumatic for all of us."

 

"If he has to be a flower, why did you dye him green, dad? Did you get head trauma when you broke Bobby's bed?

 

“Alright, Dean-o, lay off your old man about that. S’gettin’ old.” Bobby was rifling through a box of stuff now beside him on the floor. He held up a pair of green tights and grimaced. “He’d kill me if I suggested these.”

 

John laughed. “Damn right he would.” He watched as Bobby tossed them over his shoulder into the growing pile of discarded clothes.

 

Dean disappeared for a few minutes and came back out holding a pair of green sweats. “What if you just kinda tacked these to fit him for now? They’re gonna be big but it would be less work.”

 

"Yeah, that'll work," John sighed in relief. Then he eyed the green tights. "Bobby, why do you have green tights?"

 

"Used to belong to my sister," Bobby answered. Then he pulled up the leg of his jeans to reveal a hair leg. "Though do you think they might do anything for me?"

 

"In ways that are too frightening to count," John chuckled. "Now what in the hell are we gonna do for petals?"

 

"Why don’t we just cut some out of paper and staple them to a baseball cap?" Dean suggested. "Though it should be green." Dean was eyeing Bobby's favourite John Deere hat.

 

“Oh no! No way in hell are you desecrating my hat for this!” Bobby shook his head as Dean pulled out a pout. “Nu-uh. Don’t even try it, Dean!”

 

“You have two of them, remember?” John stood up and headed for the kitchen where Bobby’s other hat was hanging on a hook inside the door. “If that one is your good one, then this one,” John flourished the hat like a magician, “will work just fine and won’t be missed.”

 

“That’s my backup! You know that!”

 

"I'll get you a new one."

 

"They don't make them like that anymore," Bobby argued, eyes tracking his hat in John's hands.

 

"You mean grease covered and smelly?"

 

"The logo looks different on the new ones..." Bobby insisted. "And I got these ones broken in just right."

 

“Oh grow up, Uncle Bobby,” Dean moaned, already cutting out petals from the construction paper tablet that was on the table. “Just get him to buy you a new bed to make up for it. Or one of his aliases can buy you a new bed anyway.”

 

John started past Dean and gave him a good solid whack on the back of his head. “You’ve been getting a smart mouth lately, son. Don’t make me wash it out with soap.”

 

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Dean replied, focused and intent on his task at hand.

 

"That boy of yours has such a smart mouth that he's become a regular connoisseur of soap."

 

"I don't like the blue kind..." Dean chirped up and chuckled when John threatened to smack him.

 

Bobby's eyes were still tracking the hat in John's hand. 

 

"That smart mouth follows us around the country. He's tried all sorts of soap. Doesn't seem to work though."

 

Dean shrugged his shoulders and held up an array of white petals. “Whathca think?”

 

Bobby cut a quick glance at the paper petals and grimaced. “I’m thinkin’ this is a bad idea.”

 

John reached his hand out and took them from Dean. “I think it’ll work.” John laid the hat down in front of him and started laying the paper around it. Once he had a good idea of where to put them, he reached to pick up the stapler. He smiled up at Bobby. “You wanna do the honors or what?”

 

Bobby shook his head and got up from the floor. “Nope. I’m not killing my hat. I’m going to get a drink.” He stood up and started for the kitchen. When the first clunk of the stapler happened, he cringed and started walking faster.

 

"Ah, it's not so bad, Uncle Bobby!" Dean called out. "We can pick the staples out after the play’s done."

 

Bobby groaned loudly as he went for the emergency bottle of whiskey. He groaned even louder when John commented, "It's dying a noble death, Singer. And Dean's right... you'll hardly notice the hundreds... even thousands of little holes in the hat. Oh!" 

 

"What?" Bobby growled and took along pull from the bottle.

 

"Dean just put a staple right through the deer's head. Lawnmower's everywhere are screaming..."

There was a loud thump from the kitchen indicating that Bobby had slammed the bottle down on the counter a little too hard. John handed the stapler over to Dean. “Go ahead and finish this up. I’ll go check on him.”

Dean gave a nod and took the stapler. “Dad, tell him… I don’t know, tell him I’ll work in the yard for him this week or something. Don’t let him stay mad over this, okay?”

John patted Dean on the head before moving into the kitchen. Bobby was staring out the window above the sink, glass of whiskey in one hand and the other gripping the edge of the counter. John glanced back into the living room but Dean was oblivious to anything but finishing his little brother’s flower hat. He took a cautious step up beside Bobby and nudged him with his shoulder. “It’s just a hat, Singer.”

The look on Bobby's face was so intense. His lips were a thin line and the skin around his eyes was crinkled. He looked like he was reading a particularly complex old text. John was a little worried.

 

Suddenly Bobby looked at John. It was an intense look. His cheek twitched a little. Then suddenly Bobby burst into a gut busting laugh. Bobby slapped the counter and began to laugh so hard he was wheezing a bit. Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. 

 

"My hat..." he wheezed. 

 

John’s face was screwed up in shock, unsure of what to say or do at all. So he did the one thing that came into his head first. “Christo?”

 

It only made Bobby laugh harder. He lifted his glass of whiskey up and drained it, sputtering a bit as the laughter tried to start back up. “My poor hat. We’re gonna have to salt and burn it after this or else it may come back and haunt me.” He started to pour another shot and stopped. “Actually, it’ll be coming back to haunt you.”

 

John clapped Bobby on the back. "I'll make sure to put salt around the bed."

 

Bobby snorted and drank the shot. "Love how you just assume it'll get you in bed."

 

John lowered his voice and stole the bottle from Bobby. He took a swig himself and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, considering half the time you fall asleep with your hat on..."

 

“This coming from the guy who fell asleep on me right in the middle…”

 

“Hey, dad! Hat’s done!” Dean yelled from the living room. There was a sudden scampering of footsteps from the hallway and Sammy came crashing into the kitchen only to be scooped up by Bobby.

 

“Slow down, kiddo. When did you get back inside anyway? I didn’t hear you come in.” Bobby glanced at the wet kid in his arms.

 

“I snuck in through the bathroom window. You all were talking about tights so I went ahead and got in the shower.” Sammy wriggled in Bobby’s arms. “Are you gonna come and look at the hat or what? I gotta get to bed soon so I’m well rested for tomorrow.”

 

Bobby dropped Sammy down onto the floor. “Next time a bit of notice would be nice so we’re not running around here trying to throw together something for you.”

 

Sammy's bottom lip stuck out at bit and looked up at Bobby. "I don't wanna be a flower next time."

 

"Then you won't," Bobby promised him. What were the chances of the school running such a lame play more than once?

 

"Yeah, you'll be something worse!" Dean yelled without missing a beat. "You could be Goldilocks from Goldilocks and the three bears!"

 

“I don’t have blond hair!” Sammy yelled back, stalking into the living room. “Quit teasing me about my hair, Dean!”

 

Bobby and John followed behind, watching as the two boys fell into their usual arguments. They started silently picking things up and setting the room back to rights. The little game of one upmanship got a bit out of hand when Dean reached out to yank on one of Sammy’s brown curls resulting in Sammy punching his older brother in the nose.

 

John watched in fascination as Dean’s hands came up to cover his face, eyes wide in shock and bit teary. That’s when the blood started dripping between his fingers. “You hit me!”

 

Sammy lifted his chin. “No, I punched you! And I’ll punch again if you keep calling me a girl!”

 

"Dad, Sam hit me," Dean whispered. But it didn't have any of the whine one would expect. He was looking at John, like he couldn't believe it. He held up his hand, showing his dad the blood. "He hit me." 

 

For all of their fighting, teasing and scraping, neither of them had drawn blood before. Any blood drawn had been from scrapes and there was a fair amount of bruises, but until now, neither of the boys had really lashed out at the other like that. Dean always taunted Sammy, just like any older brother, but anyone could tell that the older boy adored Sam. He catered to him, despite the constant complaining. Despite the four year age difference, Sam ran the show unless it came to his safety or health. 

 

"He hit me," Dean whispered again. The emotions were painfully clear on his face. Pain and guilt. Because even now Dean was finding a way to make this his fault. He stood up and some blood dripped onto the hat he had worked so meticulously on for his brother. The bright red was stark against the white, carefully cut paper petals. 

Sammy didn’t miss the fact that Dean had called him ‘Sam’, which was something that just never really happened in less he was in serious trouble. There was no fury on Dean’s face, just this strange look that Sammy didn’t ever remember seeing on his older brother’s face. He took a step back, his defiant posture starting to disappear with every passing second.

Dean turned then, making his way down the hallway and into their room, the door closing quietly behind him. John watched him go, heard the sound of the water pump kick on and knew Dean was trying to clean himself up a bit. Turning to look at Sammy, he watched as the boy’s lower lip began to tremble and clenched fists became lax.

“Dad…” Dean’s voice floated out and John started to take a step forward but Sammy grabbed his hand, halting him mid-motion. 

“I’ll do it,” Sammy said, wiping absently at his eyes. “I did it, so I’ll fix it.”

John reached out and gently grabbed Sam's chin. "I think you learned something today." He didn't have to say what it was. "But you should learn one other thing... sometimes you can't fix things. You drew first blood."

"John..." Bobby said in a concerned tone. The tone clearly said Bobby thought he had gone too far.

 

"No," John shook his head. He looked his youngest son straight in the eyes. "Sam's got to understand the consequences to his actions. Dean'll forgive you, but he'll never look at you again the same way again. You drew blood on family." 

 

Sam’s eyes filled up with tears again and he closed them, trying to hide them from his father and Bobby. When his chin was released, he took a hesitant step forward before finally bolting towards the bedroom.

 

Bobby shook his head and stepped up in front of John. “Don’t ya think that was maybe a bit harsh, John?”

 

“Life’s harsh, Bobby, you know that as well as I do. Sammy needs to remember that. We’re all he’s got, this is his life so he’d better get use to it, get his head out of the clouds.” John sighed, rubbed at his temple with one hand. “It’s a lesson for both of them tonight. Dean’ll learn that Sammy will only take so much and Sammy’ll learn that there are other ways to get his point across without punching his brother. They can’t go out hunting and get ticked off at each other just to end up beating the crap out of each other.”

 

"Still a tough lesson to learn at such a young age," Bobby sighed. It just seemed like last week they were potty training Sammy.

 

John moved over to the counter and his fingers tapped nervously on the countertop. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long swig. "Bobby, I gotta rein him in now."

 

"He's eight, Johnny." Bobby moved in closer and laid his hand on John's lower back.

 

"Bobby..." John sighed and shook his head. He lowered his voice. "Don't tell me you have noticed his temper."

 

"You mean the Winchester temper? Oh no, haven't noticed that." Bobby answered sarcastically.

 

"It's more than that. Sometimes... I can almost see it in his eyes. When he's being pushed... hitting Dean like that... lashing out. That isn't our Sammy."

 

“So he’s not like Dean, suddenly stopping whatever he’s doing to listen or do what you want him to. He’s testing boundaries, John. He’s the youngest son and you expect him to fall right into line like Dean. Well, that’s a tough act to follow, ya know. He’s gonna rebel to that, wants to find out who he is outside of what he knows.” Bobby turned and rested his back against the countertop, pulling John in front of him hands still resting on John’s lower back. 

 

“It’s more than that. I don’t know how, but I do.” John sighed heavily before stepping away from Bobby. “Sometimes I think he defies me deliberately.”

 

“Like I said, pushing the boundaries, Johnny-boy. And it runs in your genes. I mean, look at you. You pushed and pushed until you and Danny Elkins weren’t speaking anymore. You were so completely into learning everything he could teach you and then you started questioning everything not long after that. Just let this thing with Sammy run its course. He’ll straighten up.”

 

John wanted to listen to Bobby. He was the voice of reason. Winchester men needed that. They needed someone who wasn't afraid to argue enough. Someone strong enough to put up with their bullshit. And wanted to believe that he was just imagining things. That the few rare moments when he saw a darkness in his son were just illusions. That the anger he saw that was born from their tough life and not having a mom. 

 

"It's just so much easier with Dean..." John sighed. It was never a good idea to talk about the future. About how he wanted to end this all and avenge Mary, but didn't know what life would look like after that. After tasting the hunting life, he didn't think he could ever give that up. "Sammy has so much potential. I can see it. He'll be a good hunter. Dean... he's a natural. But Sam... there's something..." John shook his head. "It's a shame hunters are solitary because people would follow him someday. I'm sure of it. Born leader." 

 

“Your boys balance each other out. In case you hadn’t noticed, Sammy’s got Dean wrapped around his little finger. The boy’d cut off his own arm if he thought it would help Sammy in some way. They ground each other. Dean loses himself a bit when he’s out there practicing, gets maybe a bit too focused. Sammy brings him out of it though. And Dean, well, Dean’s Dean. I think he’s gonna be the one to make sure that Sammy doesn’t lose himself in that head of his. You’ve got a fighter and a dreamer…separately, it’s a bad thing. Together, they’re gonna be an unbeatable match.” Bobby smiled a bit. “When did we become a pair of old hunters anyway? I mean, we’re talking about them like they’re already grown. A lot can change in the course of a few years. Those boys of yours adore you. I doubt there’s anything at all that’ll ever tear this family apart.”

 

"Yeah, yeah..." John grumbled and shook his head. "The big crisis of the moment that we have to worry about is a bloody nose and a..." John looked at the John Deere hat with white pieces of paper that tried to pass for papers stapled to them. "Some sort of alien flower." 

 

"That's better," Bobby encouraged. "Think about your son... he's in the blossom of his youth. This play will plant the seed of..."

 

John reached up and covered Bobby’s mouth with the palm of his hand. “Singer…”

 

Bobby’s eyes twinkled merrily back at him and John couldn’t help but grin.

 

 

END.


End file.
